


our fatal flaws

by morganastone



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Light Bondage, Romance, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:41:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28618233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganastone/pseuds/morganastone
Summary: She was wet from the rain, clothes heavy with water, fingers too cold, but all she saw was him. Nothing mattered anymore except for the man standing in front of her, and when she reached up to meet his lips she did it with the will of a woman in need, because that was her, and she would always need him, no matter how hard she tried to tell herself otherwise.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 66





	our fatal flaws

Sansa slammed the car door, fingers shaking along with her breath. It was pouring rain in Winterfell and she should be at her hotel room, safely tucked under the covers, already sound asleep.

Instead, she was walking towards the entrance of an old building, the familiarity of its dark colors a comfort to her speeding heart. She reached for the intercom, buzzing incessantly, body shaking under the rain until a rough, angry voice came through the speaker.

_ "Yeah?" _

"Hey, it's me," she said, without thinking too long on what it meant to have her voice be immediately recognized. There was no reply but the gate cracked open and she pushed in, shutting the rain away behind her with a relieved sigh.

Six flights of stairs and she would be all right.

She walked, hurriedly, too anxious to wait for the rusty elevator. Her shoe heels were too loud on the cheap tile but she didn't care about the noise, didn't care about the late hour. She just needed to get to the third floor, to knock on the last door on the right, to see  _ him.  _ If she saw him then she would be okay, everything would be fine.

One and a half knocks and the door was flying open, and there was his face. Hair messy from sleep, unshaved beard, dark circles under his eyes. He didn't have a shirt on, despite the cold. His blood always ran hotter, his skin was always warm under her palms, his breath simmering against her lips. It always burned when they were together and she liked that, she liked that a lot.

"It's past midnight," but he stepped to the side, allowing her in. The sound of the locks turning behind her made her breathing slow, made her mind stop racing. She was alright now, she was here with him, everything would be okay, everything would be fine if she just stayed with him.

"So are you gonna tell me what's up or do I have to guess?"

His hand was at her elbow, tugging her close. She could feel the heat of him through her coat, could see the worry in the storm of his eyes, even if he did try to mask it out. Could hear it in the pitch of his voice when he said her name.

"Sansa."

She was wet from the rain, clothes heavy with water, fingers too cold, but all she saw was him. Nothing mattered anymore except for the man standing in front of her, and when she reached up to meet his lips she did it with the will of a woman in need, because that was her, and she would always need him, no matter how hard she tried to tell herself otherwise.

She pressed her body to him, arms around his neck, standing on her tiptoes, unbalanced until he had his grip on her waist. Strong, callused hands that kept her in place, pressed flush against him, moving along with his pace. His lips were hungry and bruising, the kiss burning through her, setting fire to her previous convictions, and it wasn't until he pushed her against the kitchen counter that she realized they had been walking.

He broke the kiss and she whined, trying to pull him back, but his hand grabbed her chin, iron grip making her gasp. "Open your eyes, Sansa."

She did as she was told. She was always very good at doing so, always the perfect girl, ready to obey and please. It was one of the things she hated most about herself and yet with  _ him  _ it was different. She was always eager to comply, she enjoyed it. He never made her feel less for wanting to give up control.

"What's goin on?" he asked, thumb stroking her cheek. The gentleness of the gesture would never cease to surprise her. How could a man so rough also be so kind? "Why are you here?"

She made a choked sound. "You don't want me here?"

"Don't try to change the subject, Sansa." But his grip on her chin loosened and his other hand came up to stroke her hair, softly toying with the loose strands from her braid. "It's almost one am on a weekday. What are you doing here?"

She could lie to him. It would be easier now, even if she knew he wouldn't buy it. His eyes were on her and she felt herself starting to let go. It was why she came here in the first place. Because  _ here,  _ with  _ him,  _ was the only place where things made sense, where she could be who she truly wanted to be, who she really was inside.

"Harry proposed."

Sansa watched as his eyes dropped momentarily to her hands, now pressed against his chest. His heartbeat remained steady, his breathing slow. She looked for an ounce of recognition in his eyes, anything, a simple sign of emotion, the smallest bit of hurt or fear. But there was only the grey, only the loud but familiar storm that lived inside him, all anger and rage and control. Did he even care? Did this bother him at all? It had to. It couldn't just be her. She couldn't feel what she felt if she was alone in this.

Maybe she was fooling herself. Maybe there was nothing to feel.

_ No, that's not true. _

His voice remained steady. "And you told him no, I suppose?"

"I told him I needed to go to the bathroom," she breathed out. "And then I took the car and I drove around for three hours and now I'm here."

He smirked. She could spot a hint of humor in his eyes, could feel his hand moving to her neck, thumb pressing on her pulse point absentmindedly, as if he didn't know what his touch could do to her. "You ditched your fiance?"

"I didn't say yes so he's not my fiance. Not yet, anyway."

She watched him take a deep breath, watched him as the silence stretched, watched him while his thumb moved in circles on her throat. Her palms were sweaty, probably from the heat of him, and she wanted to sink her crimson nails on his skin, to hurt him just a little bit, just so he would say  _ something, do something,  _ instead of just staring at her with his know-it-all eyes.

She wet her lips with her tongue, watched him track her movements, but still nothing and that made her angry.

"So you're not gonna say anything?"

He pressed again. "Why are you here, Sansa?"

Why was she there? Why did she want to be there, from the moment Harry pulled out that damned velvet box from his jacket? That was a good question. A question that she had been asking herself while driving around her hometown, a question burning through her brain while she ignored Harry's calls, while she sang along to song lyrics she barely knew just to keep her brain occupied, while she tried to figure out the meaning behind her panic. Why did she run away? Why did she want to go there? Why was she here now?

_ Because I don't want to marry Harry. I don't want to be the senator's arm candy while he runs for presidency. I don't want to live on the Red Keep. I don't want to have his babies. I don't want the titles, I don't want the name, I don't want all the nonsense that comes with it. I'm here because you're here, and I need you. _

_ I want you. _

_ And I lov- _

"Answer me, Sansa."

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t say all those things because he might not want to hear them. It wasn’t what they had agreed on, not that they had agreed on much. They hadn’t. This thing between them just happened, and kept on happening, no matter how many times she would tell herself to stop. 

Unable to speak, the only thing left to do was kiss him. Kiss him until her brain stopped screaming and she forgot all of the reasons why this wasn't a good idea. All of the reasons why they could never work. She braced her hands on his shoulders, closed the small distance between them, pressed her lips softly to his mouth. He didn’t push her away, as she feared, he only held her, the hand on her neck squeezing a bit. She deepened the kiss and he let her, mouth hot and wanting, pressing her more firmly against the counter. Sansa felt his hands on her body, felt him push down her coat, fumble for the zipper of her dress. Swiftly, he left her standing in just her lingerie set, a baby blue three piece that Harry had bought her for Valentine’s Day. He had told her to wear it tonight, said it matched the color of her eyes. She had been annoyed at his command, at his need to dictate even her underwear, but dutifully complied, like she usually did. Now, she got to watch as  _ he  _ kneeled down in front of her, pressing soft kisses to her skin while his fingers worked on unhooking her tights from the garter belt. His hands moved down her legs, his touch warm and gentle, making it much more sudden when his teeth sank into her hip. She winced from the pain, twisting her fingers into his hair, not at all surprised by how good it made her feel. He could be rough when he wanted, and she enjoyed it. He kissed over her bruised skin, moving his lips until his nose brushed against her heat, his mouth tasting her through the lace of her panties.

_ "Jon." _

A shiver went through her. She always avoided saying his name out loud, hearing it in her voice. She couldn't get used to the feel of it on her tongue, couldn't risk it slipping away from her lips when she was at home, surrounded by people that knew enough about him to wonder why his name would be so familiar to her. It was risky, to allow herself to know him, to carry those three letters deep inside her soul, and she shouldn't be indulging herself like this, but he was teasing her, breath so hot on her center, fingers nudging her thighs apart, and she felt herself slipping away that little ounce of control she had left.

"Jon,  _ please." _

He stood, towering over her, pinning her hands behind her back. There was something on his palm, she realized, and he tied her wrists together, a tight grip that burned her skin. She could feel the soft material with her fingers, realizing it was her tights, then his right hand was back on her chin, grasping her with force, tilting her face until their noses touched. His left hand cupped one of her breasts, rolling her covered nipple between two fingers. She moaned, reaching for his mouth, but he stopped her. The hand on her breast reached down, under her panties, teasing at her entrance. She could feel how wet she was, as wet as the kisses he left on her jaw before his lips were at her ear.

"If you want something," he whispered, voice low and threatening. His fingers brushed her nub at an incredibly small pace and she wanted to scream, "all you have to do is tell me."

He bit her earlobe and she whined, struggling against the knots around her wrists. The tights were expensive and the material wouldn't rip so easily. Jon knew his knots pretty well.

_ Don't say his name, don't say his name, don't- _

_ "Jon." _

His mouth was on her neck, kissing and biting and bruising and leaving her mad. How was she going to explain all this to Harry? She was usually so careful, planning her nights with Jon only when she had enough time to heal. Traveling alone with the excuse of missing her family when in reality she just wanted the peace that came with the pain and pleasure only Jon could give her.

Only him.

Only  _ Jon. _

_ "Please." _

She felt his fingers moving, spreading her wetness, his teeth nibbling at the sensitive skin of her collarbone. "Why are you here, Sansa?"

"I wanted…"

"What?"

"I wanted-" she could feel his pace increasing, fingers circling her with intent, but not fast enough, not hard enough. She struggled against her bonds, the material tight around her skin. If only he wouldn't enjoy teasing her so. "I wanted you. I just wanted you."

“You wanted me to fuck some sense into you?” His eyes locked with hers, mouth just a breath away for her lips, close enough for her to feel him speaking but not be able to reach for him. “You wanted me to bend you over and fuck your cunt so hard you’d come with tears down your cheeks?”

“Yes,” she nodded, face burning from how eager she sounded, how ready she was for him, “please, Jon,  _ yes.” _

He leaned in then, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips while pushing to fingers inside her. She closes her eyes in relief, moaning against his mouth while he worked on her. Her body vibrated with his low chuckle, excited for what she knew would come next.

“See?” he murmured, before coaxing her to open up and let him taste her. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He didn’t give her time to reply, pushing his tongue on her mouth while his hand reached down to her panties. His fingers left her and she whined against his lips, only to have her gasp swallowed by him when his hands ripped away the lace.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he said, fingers back inside her after lifting her to sit on the counter and spreading her legs. “You’re okay now, I got you.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! let me know if there's any interest in seeing more of this universe :)


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